


Fain Would Follow

by queensmooting



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arthurian, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-07-02 03:19:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15787875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queensmooting/pseuds/queensmooting
Summary: A magician is tasked to kill the king's son.





	1. Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> -posting this first chapter for eruri week day 6: royalty  
> -if you have any questions about the setting or anything please let me know! I imagined this as a blend of arthurian elements with snk mythology & idk how confusing of a mix that is lol. & ofc more will be revealed in later chaps  
> -the title is an excerpt from tennyson's idylls of the king:  
>  _"I fain would follow love, if that could be;_  
>  _I needs must follow death, who calls for me;_  
>  _Call and I follow, I follow!"_

Castle torches on the far side of the bay blink like stars. The firelight rolls across the waves, muted in darkness by the time it arrives at the harbor, and by that dim light Levi polishes his knife until it looks freshly-forged. His contact is late.

 

“He’ll be here,” Petra says.

 

“Unless it’s a setup,” Levi replies.

 

He lowers the hood of his mother’s old cloak and looks over his shoulder. Sensing his agitation, Petra doesn’t touch him. Instead she hovers, close and concerned. Her focus and optimism made her an excellent partner as well as a dear friend, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. 

 

A setup would be too easy. A lowborn cutthroat and his accomplice would fetch a few easy silvers apiece. Levi knew too many nights of gut-concaving hunger not to understand.

 

“It looks suspicious with us together like this,” Levi says. “We should spread out.”

 

“You should put your blade away,” Petra says wryly. “You look like a lunatic. He’ll be here.”

 

She walks away before Levi can think of a retort. He gives his well-shined knife another glance, then sheaths it. Only two nights ago his blade was splashed with fresh blood, some merchant who owed some other merchant a large sum he refused to pay. Levi couldn’t remember the names now, but he walked away with a grubby handshake and half the sum for himself. The names never mattered, not when he and Petra could keep themselves fed for another month.

 

Lights from the castle ebb persistently in his vision. He imagines its denizens asleep in comfortable feather beds, their bellies full of food. Would they ever have to wonder where their next meal would come from, if they would survive another month of cold and sickness and starvation?

 

Another twenty minutes pass before Petra whistles once. Two whistles would have signalled police. Their contact was here. As usual, she was right. Levi eases onto feet too weary for a man of twenty years.

 

A slim sailboat skims over choppy waters toward the back of the harbor, its metal sidings blackened to avoid reflecting light. Petra and Levi wade into the bay to help secure the boat, frigid black waves lapping at the trousers tucked into their boots. Three men in the boat unload boxes from a hatch, and a fourth leaps out of the boat on his own, adjusting his fine feathered cap. His hair is mountaintop white and washed, his clothes stiff with the morning’s lingering starch, his eyes rested and sharp behind eyeglasses.

 

“Bloody sailors,” the man says to Levi in confidence. “There’s only so many times a man can hear ‘Maundy Maria’ before he loses his damned wits. You must be Levi. Call me Nic.”

 

Nicholas Lobov. A noble landowner to the wealthy classes, a well-established criminal to the poor with whom he conducted his business. Levi only knew him from stories, and his manner of speech was unexpected. He’d think Lobov was trying too hard to blend into the docks if not for the relaxed arm he threw around Levi’s shoulder, the way curses and casual language rolled off his tongue like they were his first words. Perhaps he was born into the underworld life, and some lucky curl of fate plucked him from the filth. Levi wouldn’t mind one of those for himself.

 

“Do you have the goods or not?” Levi asks.

 

“Getting right to business, eh? Alright, alright.” 

 

Lobov snaps his fingers. One of the sailors brings forward a box, setting it at Levi’s feet. He uses a crowbar to pry open the lid, revealing several large drawstring bags under a layer of cloaks.

 

“The finest powdered dragon horn in all Eldia,” Lobov says, picking up a bag and holding it toward the moonlight. 

 

Levi peers inside. There was no mistaking the silvery sheen.

 

“Fine, put it away,” Petra says curtly, keeping an eye out for passersby.

 

The sailor closes the box. Levi takes the bag from Lobov. Since the outlawing of magic in Marley dragon parts had become rarer than diamonds, and far more valuable. Scales and horn powder made for unparalleled medicine. 

 

Levi closes the drawstrings, holding the bag tenderly.  _ How many people would still be alive if they had this? _

 

“Care to take a walk with me, Levi?” Lobov asks.

 

Petra frowns. “He’s paid your gold, what more do you want?”   
  


“Only a chat is all. He’s an interesting man.”

 

“And I’m not interested,” Levi says.

 

“Not even in Eldia?”

 

Levi pauses. “What about Eldia?”

 

Lobov grins. “Follow me.”

 

Levi looks back at Petra, loading stock into her shoulder bag. There’s a warning in her eyes when she nods.

 

Lobov leads him down the wharf, where fishing boats rock ceaselessly in their sleep. He looks over the bay with eyes colder than the waters.

 

“I’ve heard about you, Levi.”

 

“What about me?” 

 

He really wants to ask,  _ What about Eldia? _

 

“I heard that anyone with a price on their head should avoid Sina Harbor.” Lobov looks him over. “Though I must say, you’re not as little as people had me believing.”

 

Levi tightens his jaw. Lobov gives a wheezy chuckle before continuing.

 

“You’re too damn good to be a common cutthroat. Operate in the right circles and you’d be called an assassin. They’d sing songs about you for centuries to come.”

 

“I never could carry a tune,” Levi says. Already bored by the man’s blathering, his eyes drift back to Petra, waiting at the far edge of the docks. “Is there a point to all this?”

 

“How would you like to kill the king’s son?”

 

The man smirks before Levi can hide his surprise. “Not your usual fare, I take it? Never killed anybody more important than a tax collector, have you?”

 

“The prince?” Levi looks at the dim outline of the castle across the bay. “Not the king?”

 

“Why, think you could manage it?” Lobov’s smug smile only grows. “Yes, you'll be cutting out the middleman, so to speak. There will be no need to worry about the king for long.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You don't keep up with news much, do you? The Fritz and Reiss houses have been disgruntled with the crown for years, and their discontentment only grows. If the sailors are right we’ll be at war soon enough, and sailors are a superstitious lot for a reason.”

 

_ In this land kings fight alongside their soldiers. In this land kings rarely survive wars _ . “So you think the heir will stand alone.”

 

“A shame the queen couldn’t make any spares,” Lobov says. “A shame the king was too honorable to marry another. Or is it too weak? Thin bloody line if you ask me.”

 

Levi’s interest in the job wars with his distaste for Lobov. “So why do you want to dispose of the Smith house in one fell swoop?”

 

“The Smith reign has been polite to my business, but I want someone who will be  _ generous _ . Someone to treat my wealth like she deserves to be treated. Let her flourish, not strangle her with taxation. I’ve been speaking with Lord Rod of House Reiss, and I think I’ve found my man.”

 

“You’re really going to replace the entire monarchy,” Levi says, barely keeping a note of wonder out of his voice.

 

“As a means to an end,” Nic clarifies, waving a hand. “I don’t fancy myself a revolutionary.”

 

“Complete self indulgence.” Levi isn't surprised. “So what do we get out of it?”

 

“You mean the thrill of killing isn’t enough to whet your appetite, Mr. Ackerman?” 

 

Levi tenses. Not even Petra knew his surname. Lobov's smile is a shadowed glint in the low light. 

 

“I knew your uncle,” he explains. 

 

“I believe it,” Levi says, heart racing. “The two of you were cut from the same grimy cloth.” 

 

“He was a brilliant sorcerer, ruthless. If I had a monster like him in my kingdom I’d outlaw magic, too. Though it sounds like you’re trying to give him a run for his gold, eh?”

 

Lobov bellows a laugh that Levi doesn’t share. He casts his eyes over his shoulder to Petra, just for a moment. 

 

Levi never wanted to be a monster. He was just trying to survive.

 

Lobov drums his fingers together, indulging in another moment of self-satisfaction. Finally he leans close, voice lowering. 

 

“You wanted to know what's in it for you. Two tickets for a trade ship sailing to Eldia--”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“I wasn't finished. But yes, indeed, passage to Eldia. The ship leaves in September, before the waters are impassable. You'll get to live somewhere warm. Somewhere food grows all year round. Somewhere the poor don’t starve by the thousands every winter. Somewhere you can practice your magic, not hide it in the dark. And enough gold for you and the girl to start a new life.”

 

Levi holds onto disbelief until Lobov produces two slips of paper from inside his jacket. Eldia was impossibly far to sail without the sturdiest of vessels, and only a few trade ships were allowed passage into Eldian waters since the outlaw of magic.

 

This was freedom in ink and paper.

 

“Something tells me we have a deal,” Lobov says, noting the way Levi's jaw slackened.

 

“Hold on. How will I get to the prince? I’m no archer, and from what I’ve heard the royal family hardly leaves the castle these days.”

 

“As it happens I’m old friends with the head cook of the castle. She needs new workers and I promised I’d find her a few. You’d be stuck in the kitchens at first, but once you settle in, earn yourself freer range of the castle, who knows?”

 

“Who knows,” Levi repeats, drawing out the words, as if he hadn't made up his mind the moment the tickets flashed from Lobov’s pocket.

 

“You can cook, right?”

 

“Yes,” Levi says. “Now Petra is the worst cook in Marley, but she can learn.”

 

Lobov’s brow furrows. “You’d bring her with you?”

 

“Of course.” Levi matches his frown. “Was that not the arrangement?”

 

“I was hoping she could stay here on the harbor, continue assisting with my shipments…”

 

Levi feels a flicker of alarm, an instinct that rarely failed him. He knew Lobov’s type. Lobov was the sort of man who’d do anything if it meant one less head to pay, and it was too easy to imagine Petra disappearing under mysterious circumstances. Then Lobov could take her gold, her ticket, her freedom.

 

“No. We stay together. We got no deal otherwise.”

 

“It could be conspicuous, and it might be harder for you both to escape after the job’s finished--”

 

“No deal.”

 

“But--”

 

“No deal.”

 

Lobov sighs. “Alright. I was only thinking of your well being, really. We’ll find something else for her in the castle. So we have an agreement?”

 

“One princely head coming up,” Levi says. 

 

Lobov extends his hand. Levi gives it a long glance before giving into the handshake. Lobov’s grip tightens with surprising strength and tugs Levi close enough to whisper in his ear. The put-upon drawl vanishes as Lobov’s voice goes quiet, steely.

 

“Of course if you’re caught,” Lobov hisses, “you’re not taking me down with you. Is that understood?”

 

“I won’t be caught,” Levi says, twisting his arm. Lobov’s grip doubles and a barbed flare surges through Levi’s veins, begging for the hilt of his knife.

 

“Is that understood?” Lobov repeats, softer. This time Levi sees Lobov’s eyes trail to Petra, listening to sailors’ stories on the other side of the dock. Levi clenches his fingers, twitching in Lobov’s grip.

 

“Understood.”

 

“Splendid.” Lobov gives his hand a last hearty shake, then releases him. Levi feels his fingers going numb. “Well, I shouldn’t keep my men waiting. You have two weeks to pack and settle any affairs, then I’ll be around to bring you to the castle.”

 

Lobov sets off toward the dock. Levi rubs his cold hands under his cloak, watching steely water cut into cold sky. Travelers from the south ends of the world whispered of kind blue waters, of a land where magic flourished. Marley itself held no magic to light the nights, only the thin quarter-moon to gleam off the haggard coats of wharf rats.

 

One last kill. One last mark against his soul. A small price to pay for Eldia.

 

*

 

 

Levi and Petra call a waterfront inn their temporary home, where he cooks and Petra cleans to earn boarding and two watery bowls of chowder per day. They never stayed in one place longer than a season, finding new lodgings before authorities could catch up with them. They’d already been here three months. Lobov’s assignment came at the right time.

 

Levi locks the door behind them and draws the heavy curtain. Petra waves her hand at the fireplace to start a growing spark. Levi kneels by its warmth, pulling the bag of dragon horn powder from his pocket. He runs a finger over the air-light powder, watches it shimmer under his touch.

 

“I’m not sure about this, Levi.” Petra removes her boots, using magic to dry the waterlogged laces. “What’s there to say Lobov won’t sell the tickets to the next-highest bidder? What guarantee is there we’ll escape with our heads? I’m not dying for his damn crusade.”

 

The fire Petra conjured doesn’t tire and dry Levi’s eyes like a normal fire would. He feels strong, certain.

 

“We could be free,” Levi says. 

 

“And that’s enough?”

 

“Isn’t it for you?”

 

Levi looks over his shoulder. Petra takes in the room lit only by her fire, too dim to see the rotting wood walls and leaking ceiling.

 

He remembers when they found each other, shortly after her father’s murder and his uncle’s disappearance. She was smaller than him then, all sharp limbs and untempered magic. Now she’s eighteen and practice has made her magic a honed, brilliant tool, far surpassing Levi’s. It was a shame to hide it.

 

“We could be free,” she says, so quietly Levi barely hears it over fire crackle. For the first time all day he smiles.

 

*

 

_Levi watched his uncle set fire to the homes of his enemies without a scrap of kindling. He watched his uncle steal breath from lungs with a wave of his hand, bend knives in the air to meet their mark._

 

_“Kuchel never taught you this sort of magic, did she, kid?” his uncle asked._

 

_His mother never taught him magic at all. He never knew what dwelled in his blood until Kenny came along. Even as a child Levi preferred brute strength to sorcery, knowing too well what came of its misuse._

 

_Unnatural fire danced in Levi's vision as he watched Kenny raid. If his uncle could steal life so easily, why couldn’t he restore it? If his mother could perform magic, why couldn’t she save herself?_

 

_The fire gives way to a rattling sound. Her breath still rattles thirteen years later. He can’t recall her voice anymore, can barely picture her once-healthy face. But the rattling is loud and clear as ever._

 

_ She turns her eyes toward him, sunken eyes bled through with red and yellow, when he could have sworn they once looked just like his, and he’s trying, trying to find his magic, but fear strangles his throat and binds his hands-- _

 

_ “Levi,” she croaks, voice rattling, always rattling. “Son--” _

 

Petra nudges him hard, dragging him from his dream. Levi sits up, massaging the sore places where his head lolled against the sidings of Lobov’s cart. 

 

“We’re almost there,” Petra says. She watches him rub his face, his eyes. “Are you alright?”

 

“Fine,” he mutters.

 

They’re en route to the castle, along with six other workers. Levi spent most of the trip sleeping or feigning sleep to avoid conversation with Lobov. He doesn’t mind missing the scenery. He’s seen enough of Marley for a lifetime.

 

They pass the last street of the castle market town as the sun crests. Castle Stohess comes into full view before them, tall and guarded and grey, nestled against the cliff behind it as if it wanted to melt into the rock. As if the castle itself was afraid.

 

Levi analyzes for weak points. The towers were wide and smooth, too smooth to allow for simple climbing. The walls were wide but well-windowed. It would be easy to spot anyone attempting to scale them. The gates looked like the only reasonable escape.

 

The first gate opens onto the training yard, rushed with activity. Armored men practice at their swords and others tend to horses, all in the muted panic of oncoming war.

 

“You’d be more useful if you were a blacksmith,” Lobov mentions to Levi, nodding toward the armory. “They’ll need plenty of weapons for what’s coming. ‘Course some of the more prominent smiths were too busy taking the throne. They should’ve known commoners could never rule long. They don’t have what it takes.”

 

“And you know what it takes?” Levi asks.

 

“Heavens no. But I know what I want. And I know who will loosen their purse strings enough to give me what I want.”

 

Petra and Levi exchange a look but remain silent.

 

They arrive at a small brick building a short distance from the main keep. Here they unload the cart and follow Lobov inside. Levi holds tight to his bag and cloak.

 

“Here are the employees’ quarters,” he says. “Men in the rooms on the western side, women in the east. Drop your things and be quick. I reckon they’ll want to put you right to work. Time is short for all of us these days.”

 

Levi follows the others and surveys the men’s quarters. The floor is stone, not straw, and the cots look cleaner than any he’d slept in all his years on the coast. Each man had his own small shelf, with treasures on open display, where anyone could pilfer them.

 

Levi tucks his pack of clothes against the wall under his cot. Everything else he’ll keep on his person. His cloak, his knife and dagger, the powdered dragon horn. He was not as careless as the rest of his new colleagues.

 

They move into the main keep, where high ceilings and tall windows allow setting sunlight to pool in every corner. Lobov whisks them along at a quick pace. Levi catches glimpses of soldiers gravely muttering in private and little else of interest, no sign of the king or his son.

 

“Here we are,” Lobov says, stopping at a pair of wide wooden doors.

 

The enormous, sterile kitchen is nothing like the hectic messes he’d grown used to working in. Three cooks chop vegetables in sync and in silence. Another checks on a pot of stew. When the lid lifts Levi smells lamb and rosemary and a broth so hearty his mouth waters and his stomach aches. The other new workers, with their thin faces and wide eyes, look near-pained by the scent.

 

A woman with spectacles and short grey hair murmurs instructions to a cook, then notices the arrivals. Her eyes narrow when they land on Lobov.

 

“Oh,” she says. “You. They’re still allowing you into the castle?”

 

“Thought you said you were old friends,” Levi mutters to him.

 

“Something like that,” Lobov mutters back. He smiles broadly at the woman. “Rico, splendid to see you.”

 

“Supper’s in a half hour, I don’t have time for your false pleasantries. Are these the new recruits, then?”

 

“That they are. Tod, Gwynn, Augusta, and Levi.”

 

“Fine. You two, peel the carrots. You, check on the bread. You--” She points at Levi, then notices Petra. “What about her?”

 

“I’d be no help in the kitchen, I’m afraid,” Petra says. “Got to find another place for myself.”

 

“I heard the witch was looking for someone to help mix medicines,” Rico tells Lobov.

 

“Witch?” Petra repeats quietly.

 

Lobov chuckles. “Rico’s only joking. Come, I’ll show you.”

 

Panic leaps in Levi’s gut. He won’t trust Lobov until he and Petra have set foot on Eldian soil. “I want to come, too.”

 

“What, is she your wife?” Rico asks.

 

“ _ No _ ,” Levi and Petra say emphatically.

 

Rico raises her eyebrows. “Fine. But if you want supper you’ll be back quick and be smart about it.”

 

“This person…” Petra whispers as Lobov leads them out. “They’re not really a witch, are they?”

 

Lobov laughs in the oily way that grates on Levi’s nerves.

 

“If they are,” Lobov says, “they certainly haven’t been caught in the act. You’ll take care to do the same.”

 

The medical ward is a small series of rooms on the ground floor of the main keep. Natural light glints off bottles and tubes and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, belonging to a person bent over a mortar.

 

The click of Petra’s boot gets the physician’s attention. Their robe is dirty but they seem more attentive than mad, their brown eyes soft and curious behind their glasses.

 

“Griffin’s claw?” Lobov asks. 

 

Petra glares at him for the mere mention of magic.

 

“Poppy straw, for morphine,” the physician says. “The master at arms reckons we’ll be needing a castle’s worth of morphine drums soon.”

 

They stand and cross the room, extending their hand. “Hange. One of you must be my new assistant.”

 

Petra accepts the eager handshake. “That would be me. Petra, and this is Levi.”

 

“I’ll have you two know I’m no magician,” Hange says, glancing at Lobov. “No matter what anyone here says. I’ve been tried enough times for sorcery, you think they’d learn.” They laugh, easy and good-natured. “But the good king always sees me go free.”

 

_ Your good king’s father is the one who outlawed magic in the first place _ , Levi thinks bitterly.

 

“Mind putting on a pot to boil?” Hange asks Petra. 

 

“Not at all,” Petra says, going to the cupboards.

 

Hange winks at her as they return to their mortar. “Don’t worry, I won’t work you too hard your first night. Just want to finish up this batch then I’ll show you to your room.”

 

“Looks like everything’s covered here,” Lobov says. He claps a hand on Levi’s shoulder. “I’ll escort this one back to the kitchens and be on my way.”

 

“Thank you,” Hange says, briefly waving without looking up. 

 

Petra meets Levi’s eyes and gives him a quick smile. Levi breathes easier.

 

Lobov half-steers Levi back to the hall, where Levi throws off his hand. They walk in silence until Lobov spots a small alcove behind a suit of armor and dives into it, dragging Levi along.

 

“Shit, watch it,” Levi growls, smoothing out his sleeves.

 

“You remember our agreement.” Lobov reaches into the pockets of his coat and gives Levi a flash of the ship tickets. “The ship leaves the first day of September and waits for no one. If you can’t complete your task, you’re on your own, you  _ and  _ her. And if you’re caught?”

 

“I won’t speak your name,” Levi drawls. “Lest they torture me for a thousand years, pluck out my eyes and--”

 

“You think this is a joke?” Lobov says, voice icy again. “You think I don’t have a dozen amateur cutthroats like you at my disposal, just as eager for passage to Eldia?”

 

Levi grits his teeth.  _ Power-tripping piece of shit _ . “I won’t speak your name.”

 

“Good,” Lobov says, almost warmly. “Let’s return you to Rico.”

 

*

 

Preparing supper for the royal family and their retainers turned out to be brisk, exciting work. Levi’s first evening passes quickly, and afterward he sits with his new coworkers around the kitchen table and helps himself to a bowl of leftover stew. His eyes slide closed at the bite of real spices and herbs on his tongue.

 

At the inns and taverns he worked at before Levi was always the last to leave the kitchen, the last to care enough about infection to scrub every surface. Tonight he cleans with a team, and an hour after sundown he finds himself with nothing to do. Between the travel and the work he’s tired, more tired than he’s been in months, but he won't allow his first night pass without a cursory survey of his mission.

 

He stops by Petra’s new room in the medical ward, warm from the fires and thick stone walls. She’s already fast asleep, snoring loudly as ever. He nearly smiles, then slips back into the halls.

 

The castle is quiet but busy by night, a restless sleeper, like Levi himself. Knights and attendants wordlessly wander the halls, paying Levi no mind. He freely explores the ballroom with its high intimidating windows and the public library with its narrow staircases. When he wanders too close to the royal quarters two guards stop him and turn him around. All along his walk he makes mental notes.

 

_ Entrance to royal quarters in plain sight. Too many witnesses. We’ll need a solid excuse to get in. Unless there’s a way in from above... _

 

Levi finds a slim tower and climbs its winding steps to the top. A balcony perch overlooks most of the castle and beyond, over the waves of farmland and the navy sky and a distant glimmer of the bay he left behind only yesterday. The night is brighter here, with its cloudless starlight and fires that flicker until morning.

 

Guards at every tower and battlement turn when Levi opens the door. Some go back to their watch, while others keep an eye on him.

 

_ Witnesses here, too. They’re all paranoid. The king must be in more trouble than we thought. _

 

Levi leans casually against the short wall of the balcony, like he’d meant to be there all along. The scents of freshly tilled soil and grass make him sneeze. He itches in the back of his throat, the depths of his ears. He never thought he'd miss a breath of gritty sea breeze.

 

A lazy bend in the wind unfurls the flag on the turret across from the balcony. A winged emblem shines silvery-blue on an emerald background, gem-like and bright in the summer moon. Something about it feels hopeful, idealistic. 

 

Levi thinks about Lobov’s words, how commoners weren’t meant to rule. How they couldn’t last. He thinks about the harbor where he grew up, the farmlands stretching out beyond the castle. No matter who ruled it seemed nothing changed for those who worked the fields, who towed the barges and made goods for the kingdom. Levi hardens his heart against the commoner king. 

 

_ Once you wear a crown, you’re one of them. No different than the rest. _

 

*

 

Levi’s first week passes so quickly he hardly has time to see Petra, let alone plan how he’ll get to the prince. As soon as they wake the kitchen staff begins baking bread for the day. Breakfast clean-up barely finishes before it’s time for lunch, and supper preparations alone take hours. 

 

The last week of June melts into July with a suffocating heatwave. Levi keeps his hair tied back in a cloth as he works and still feels sweat on the back of his neck.

 

On Sunday he gets his first day off. Temple bells from the far side of the market wake him at dawn, and he lies in bed for hardly a minute before he’s up. Inertia has never suited him.

 

At mid-morning Levi wraps some food in a cloth and takes it to the balcony he discovered his first night. Petra meets him there with a stoppered bottle in her hand.

 

“That’s got licorice root and peppermint,” Petra says, handing him the bottle. “I told Hange you’ve been sniffling and itching all week and they said it would help.”

 

He uncorks the bottle, takes a sniff, then takes too great of a sip. “ _ Shit _ !” 

 

Levi’s eyes sting at the strong, sweet flavor. After a moment the pressure in his head eases and his airways loosen.

 

“Good, right?” Petra asks.

 

“Yeah. Think I’m going blind but at least I can breathe. Thank Hange for me?”

 

“Will do.” Petra unwraps the cloth and begins breaking off hunks of bread and cheese. “Can you believe how much food there is here? Not one person in this castle is going hungry.”

 

“And it’s still not half as good as what the royals eat. We cook lamb and buttered mushrooms and that sort of shit for them every single night.”

 

“I could get used to that,” Petra says, and Levi laughs in agreement.

 

“What about you? Hange’s good to you?”

 

“Hange’s brilliant,” Petra says reverently. “I never thought I had a head for medicine, but they really know how to teach. And even in Marley medicine you can find the roots in--” She looks around, then lowers her voice. “In Eldian potions.”

 

“You think they’re really a sorcerer?” Levi asks, equally quiet.

 

“Hange? No. Wouldn’t be surprised if they dabbled, though.” She inches closer to Levi. “When I was organizing their journals a few nights ago I found several Eldian history books. I didn’t get a chance to look through them, I don’t know if they’re trying to keep them a secret, but there’s definitely an interest.”

 

“No shit.” Levi leans his elbows back against the cool stone. “Eldia.”

 

“It’s strange to think of going, isn’t it? Our motherland, and we know nothing about it.”

 

“My mum once told me she had a grandfather who still lived on the island. He used to write to her while she was alive. ‘Course that was about fifteen years ago, old man must be dead by now.”

 

“You don’t know that.” Petra sets down her bread. “Wouldn’t that be something, to have family after all these years?”

 

Levi shrugs. “Don’t see the point, I never knew the man. You’re family enough.”

 

He hadn’t meant the comment to be sentimental, it was only the truth, and he tells her so. Being with Petra alleviates the strange homesick feeling that’s lived in his chest the last week. This he keeps to himself.

 

Petra smiles anyway, giving his hair a sisterly ruffle. Then they finish their breakfast in peace. 

 

*

 

“Levi,” Rico calls the next day at breakfast. “The prince is ill. Bring this to his room, and stop by Hange for medicine.”

 

Levi’s heart jolts. He removes his apron and takes a tray of toast and fruit from Rico.

 

As he leaves the kitchen he breathes deep through his nose. It’s his first chance to establish trust. He can’t let anything go wrong.

 

At the medical ward Petra sorts books and Hange writes something in a journal, face bent close to the page. Levi clears his throat to get their attention.

 

“I was asked to bring some medicine to the prince.”

 

“Of course,” Hange says, rising quickly. “The poor dear.”

 

While they rummage through their stores Petra sidles close, her eyes wide.

 

“Should I...add something?” she breathes.

 

“Too soon,” Levi whispers back, lips barely moving. Too obvious, and the castle too busy. Petra nods, straightening her skirt and returning to her work. Hange returns a moment later and sets a large glass vial on the tray.

 

When he reaches the royal quarters there are two guards, as he expected. They eye Levi as he approaches.

 

“Breakfast for the prince,” Levi says. “He’s ill.”

 

The guards stand aside, opening the double doors. Levi tries not to raise his eyebrows as he passes through, surprised things were going his way. 

 

The royal quarters are quieter than the rest of the castle, but no more peaceful. He passes a chapel where nobles and advisors pray, their heads bowed and framed by refracted yellow light. In a drawing room knights murmur in low tones over a map, and close the door when they see Levi passing. The more he saw, the more he realized Lobov was right.

 

Levi takes extra care with the tray on the stairs to the prince’s room, watching the glass vial threaten to wobble. He finds a door at the top and knocks with his foot.

 

“Come in,” calls a low voice.

 

The way others talked about him Levi had imagined little more than a boy. Instead he opens the door to find a solidly built man Levi’s age, perhaps a year or two younger. He’s reading a book in his pajamas, hair messy from the pillows he leaned against, looking more like a common old man than a future king.

 

“Prince Erwin,” Levi says, awkwardly holding out the tray. “Your breakfast.”

 

“Oh!” Erwin hurries out of bed to take the tray. “I’m sorry about this. I get one head cold and Rico forgets I have working legs.”

 

Even in bare feet he’s nearly a foot taller than Levi, but Levi had killed bigger than him. He watches as Erwin sets the tray at his bedside. He wonders if Erwin’s voice is always this deep or if it’s just the earliness of the hour, the soft sleepy light from the thinly-curtained window. The same light whitens the prince’s hair, elderly touches on a body shaking off the last remnants of childhood.

 

“Uh,” Levi says. “I guess if you need anything else…”

 

“Ah, yes. This will suffice. Thank you again...what is your name?”

 

“Levi.”

 

“Levi.” He smiles. “My name is Erwin.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Right.” Erwin laughs. “Of course.”

 

Levi wonders if he’s expected to bow or something similarly servile. Before he can wonder anymore Erwin turns his attention away. He takes his first bite of strawberry with eyes closed in appreciation, head tipped back to show the soft line of his throat. Levi could cut him open with the butter knife on the tray and Erwin wouldn’t notice until the blood reached his lap.

 

He turns to leave before he can smile. He would be in Eldia by wintertime.


	2. Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> povs will switch back & forth for each new chapter. we're in erwin's now!  
> this poor sap

In his dream no eye tracks him through the market. No voice falls to a revered hush at the sight of his father. The two of them pass through crowds like any fish in any stream in any corner of the world. A schoolhouse holds his father’s court, a straw hat takes the weight of his crown.

 

In his dream he sits on a hillside under a soft yellow sky. There he talks with his father, the conversation simple, no worldly thing on their minds.

 

In his dream the sun climbs over a massive stone wall. The wall becomes a curtain, and his eyes open. A knock sounds, then another. 

 

Erwin sits up straight in bed and smooths his hair. He reaches for the nearest stack of papers to make it appear he’d been up for some time. Mike, the master-at-arms, had made markings and notes on a map for him to look over. It seemed Lady Ymir and her retainers had nearly reached Mitras, the land ruled by the House of Reiss.

 

The knock sounds again, loud and curt.

 

“Come in,” Erwin says.

 

The door opens not on Mike or anyone else he expected, but Levi, the young man from the kitchens, carrying a serving tray.

 

“You didn’t have to--”

 

“Rico worried,” Levi says, “when you didn’t join your father for breakfast.”

 

“You can tell her I’m feeling much better today.” Erwin watches him set the tray on his bedside table and turn to go. “Thank you, Levi.”

 

Levi glances back. “You remembered my name?”

 

“I try to make a point of it. My father says a king should know his people as well as they know him.”

 

“Hm.” Levi looks unimpressed. As an afterthought he adds, “Your Highness.”

 

“Thank you again. And thank Rico for me.”

 

Levi leaves as quick as he came, a small hand gripping the door for only a moment before he was gone. Erwin glances at the tray. He’d never known Rico to make strawberry jam.

 

*

 

Within twenty minutes Erwin dresses and finds his father with their advisers in a drawing room. His father looks tired behind his round glasses, somehow elderly. When the door clicks shut he glances up, and the deep lines in his forehead soften.

 

“Good morning, son.”

 

Erwin takes a seat at his father’s side and sits silently through the rest of the meeting, absorbing everything. He feels older sitting here, listening to the people he grew up with discussing potential casualties, risk of disease, the difficulties of fighting in winter when their horses were likely to freeze underneath them. Sometimes Mike’s voice cracks in the grain of early morning and Erwin could hear again the young man who taught him to swing a sword.

 

After the meeting Erwin lingers as the others disperse. His father notices and goes to his side.

 

“Walk with me?”

 

They go to the grounds, where the long rainless stretch had sapped life from the grass, cracking dryly beneath their boots. The sun drags lazily across the afternoon sky and reminds Erwin of his dream, the massive wall. He stares at a horizon that somehow looks wider today.

 

“So what do you make of it?” his father asks. “Lady Ymir’s journey south.”

 

Erwin chooses his words carefully, wanting to impress. “I would think an alliance with Lord Rod. The northerners have always joined sides when they smell war. Perhaps Ymir is aligning herself with the Reisses.”

 

“You know, in Helos they call her their queen.” His father looks at him. “You’ve never been to the north country.”

 

“No.”

 

“What do you know about it?”

 

“Helos is the largest region in Marley, ruled by the Fritz family for over two hundred years. Its primary exports are pine lumber, furs--”

 

“That’s good, son. Now, what do you know of its people? Its culture?”

 

Around anyone else, Erwin’s hesitation might have been an embarrassment. But his father was patient, a natural instructor.

 

“As unforgiving as winter is for our kingdom, it’s a different story in the north, and it breeds a different sort of people. The townsfolk like telling their stories of the barbarians of Helos, but never forget they’re people like you and I. They’re just trying to survive, same as the rest of us.”

 

Across the grounds false steel meets false steel behind the walls of the armory. They stop and listen a moment to the clashes, the playful shouts, the mimicry of battle.

 

“Have you chosen a squire yet?”

 

Erwin looks at his father carefully. The king watches the horizon like he’s waiting for someone to appear at its edge.

 

“You think it will come to war?” Erwin asks.

 

“Perhaps not. We’re doing all we can to negotiate a truce.”

 

“But I should choose a squire.”

 

“Think of it as any other rite of passage. As I recall you greatly enjoyed your time as Mike’s squire.”

 

Erwin stays quiet, still troubled. His father smiles, places a strong hand on his shoulder. “You can never be too prepared, son.”

 

The king returns to the royal quarters, and Erwin heads to the armory. He walks with a shiver at the thought of war, of spears pointed at his friends.

 

Erwin climbs stone stairs until he reaches a ledge overlooking the training yard. A few knights wrap up their last teaching sessions of the day. Children years younger than him pack away blunted blades, wooden bows. Erwin shuts his eyes and can’t keep away the sudden vision of a battlefield, strewn with their bodies.

 

When the last knight clears Erwin pushes away from the ledge, ready to go inside. Then he hears a door creak below.

 

A black-haired man creeps into the yard. Countless boots trampled the warm earth into mush over the course of the morning, and it gives softly beneath the man’s feet. He lifts his head to regard the wall of targets, and Erwin recognizes him.

 

Levi’s handling of a heavy practice blade is clumsy at best. He gives it a few awkward twirls, nearly drops it once or twice. Erwin smiles, reminded of his first time holding a sword, the way Mike always had to remind him to focus.

 

Erwin’s attention drifts to a flock of geese before a thunderous crack rings through the training yard. He looks back in time to see feathers and dust floating where a practice dummy once stood. Levi runs a hand through his hair and straightens up, admiring his work. 

 

Erwin stares, mouth open.  _ Did he really destroy the target with nothing but a blunted blade? _

 

Levi looks over his shoulder and Erwin crouches behind the wall. He waits out of sight for a minute, heart still pounding from the sudden sound, from the awe. When he stands up again Levi is gone.

 

*

 

The next week fills up with more maps, more meetings. Their scouts bring news of Ymir’s reception at the Reiss castle. The window of opportunity to appease Lord Rod narrows by the hour. Erwin’s father extends an invitation to Rod. The castle holds its breath.

 

Before, in his moments of freedom, Erwin would find himself a quiet nook in a vacant tower, hide himself away and read a while. Now he goes outside to the training yard, watches his soldiers at practice. Sometimes when the yard is clear he catches Levi there. Erwin's never seen anyone like him, small but impossibly strong, inexpert but viciously quick.

 

Every day Levi makes progress with the practice blades, becomes more familiar with their size and weight. Erwin wonders where Levi finds the stamina, with all his extra work in the kitchens. Levi, who seems a bottomless source of strength, who moves like a veteran of a heavenly war, an angel who tumbled into his castle.

 

Erwin thinks of the threat of war, lurking in every silence. With a soldier like Levi on their side, they just might stand a chance.

 

*

 

Erwin stops at the medical ward a week after he first notices Levi's sessions. He pauses at the doorway, watching Hange scribble a note in their journal. Behind them a red-haired, red-faced girl reaches for a heavy book on her tiptoes.

 

For a moment he’d like nothing more than to join them. He’d always had more of a fondness for healing than politics.

 

“All they need is morphine these days, Petra,” Hange says. “Easy enough to make but the ingredients are damn hard to gather, I wonder if--oh, Erwin!”

 

Hange closes their journal and the girl stumbles on her toes, hurrying to straighten up.

 

“Your Highness,” the girl says, with the same rough accent as Levi.

  
“This is Petra,” Hange says, going to her side and patting her shoulder. “She’s great, Erwin. Got these tiny little hands for precise work, nothing like my big paws. Lately things get done twice as fast around here.”

 

“Hange’s been swamped here alone, I’m sure they’re happy to have you.” Erwin smiles at Petra, then turns to Hange. “Could you spare twenty minutes?”

 

They leave Petra in charge at the medical ward and head out for a walk. Erwin glances back at the door on their way.

 

“Where did you find her?” he asks.

 

“She arrived with the others from Sina Harbor a couple of weeks ago. Everyone says that place is nothing but criminals, but she’s hard-working, never gives me any grief.”

 

“I’m not surprised to hear it.”

 

“Of course you’re not, you see the best in everyone.” Hange affectionately claps his shoulder. “Might want to find a way around that before it gets you into trouble.”

 

They head up a flight of stairs to the outside walls of the castle, where guards mutter their greetings. The day quickly turned hot, cool morning breezes replaced with sticky air and unfettered sunlight.

 

“Your father fought for Mitras, am I correct?” Erwin asks as they walk.

 

Hange’s brow furrows behind their glasses, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “Yes. We spent much of my childhood on the Reiss lands, though my papa died before Rod became lord.”

 

“Did you ever get the measure of Rod? What sort of man he is?”

 

“Hm...prideful, if I had to pick a word.” 

 

“Oh?”

 

“You know his brother Uri was lord before him. Now, Rod loves his family, but he thought Uri was soft, and foolish not to have heirs. In his opinion Uri was too willing to compromise with the crown, if you don’t mind me saying.”

 

“You know I never do. He was dissatisfied with our rule?”

 

“Well...when Rod went drinking with my papa and the other soldiers, words were bound to slip out. Words no one means the next day.”

 

“What sort of words?”

 

“Rod didn’t think the Reisses deserved to be taxed more just because they held larger lands. He wanted more protection at their border with Helos, wanted more prestige for his daughters, wanted this and that. Of course no one took him seriously, he was just the lord’s ugly little brother after all. No one ever thought Rod would rule, Uri was still young enough to wed and have children when he died. Poor thing, he was a good lord too. We’d certainly be in a better spot right now if he were still alive.”

 

“I see.” Erwin thinks of the invitation his father extended to Rod. He wonders how it will be received now. A prideful man was a difficult man to placate. “Thank you, Hange.”

 

They reach the wall overlooking the training yard and Erwin stops. “Here. I wanted to show you something.”

 

He’s not surprised to see Levi practicing during the Sunday lull, when many of the knights and other soldiers loitered at the market after church services. Today he tries a bow, and even the blunted practice arrows sink deep into their targets as he spins through the yard, moving so swiftly he could be flying.

 

“I know him,” Hange says quietly. “That’s Petra’s friend, the one from the kitchens.”

 

“Yes,” Erwin says. “Levi.”

 

Levi tugs the bowstring too hard and his hold looks uncomfortable, but his draw is swift and his aim is true. For a moment Erwin wishes he could move closer, see the way Levi’s sharp eyes focus on a target, the steadiness of his breath and hands.

 

“You want him,” Hange says.

 

Erwin looks up quickly.

 

“For the army. You must, right? He could use some refining, but I’ve never seen anyone move like him.”

 

“Yes,” Erwin says, heart slowing. “Yes, he would be an excellent addition.”

 

“Then go get him. Why are you showing me?”

 

“Mike would say Levi’s too old to be properly trained. I’m sure many of the others would agree. If not they would find his temperament...disagreeable.”

 

“You’re the prince, Erwin.” Hange grins. “If you want to make exceptions for  _ one  _ soldier I don’t think anyone here would deny you. Go. Talk to him.”

 

*

 

Erwin opens the heavy wood door to the training yard and waits until Levi sets down his bow to announce himself. Levi spins to face him, shirt coming loose over his trousers, sweat and sunshine mingling in his hair.

 

“Finally decided to get a proper view?” Levi folds his arms. “The kingdom can’t be in that much trouble if you have nothing better to do than watch me. Your Highness,” he adds, as if it pains him to do so.

 

“So you noticed,” Erwin says, unabashed.

 

“You’re what, ten feet tall? You’re a hard one to miss.”

 

“As are you. You’re extraordinary with a sword.” 

 

“I’m better with smaller blades,” Levi says, shrugging off the compliment. 

 

“Because of your kitchen experience?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I still have to get used to these big bastards.”

 

Erwin considers the barrel of practice swords at Levi’s side. “Fancy a spar?”

 

Levi’s eyes narrow. “No way. I’d be thrown in the stocks if I nicked one hair on your precious golden head.”

 

“You’re so sure you’ll best me?” Erwin smiles. “It’s alright. I’m tired of all these lads going easy on me. I promise.”

 

Levi considers that for a minute, considers Erwin, eyeing him slowly enough that Erwin feels the hair at his nape prickle in anticipation. Then Levi takes up a sword for himself. With little warning he tosses a second to Erwin, who catches it with little hesitation.

 

“You asked for it,” Levi says, before lunging out with the blade.

 

It’s as Erwin observed; Levi was strong, but with little technique. His slower attacks were easy to dodge, but once their swords crossed, once Levi sped up his movements, Erwin could feel the power behind each swing. It was often difficult to recover. He was breathless in minutes.

 

One of Levi’s jabs finally lands across Erwin’s shoulder and he sinks to the ground, vision bleary. He drops his sword and clutches his shoulder, massaging the muscle.

 

“Shit,” Levi whispers, kneeling at his side. He looks from Erwin to the surrounding walls, as if checking for onlookers. “Is it broken? If it’s come loose I can pop it back--”

 

“It’s fine,” Erwin says, once he can breathe again. “Just bruised, I imagine. Nothing I haven’t received in training before.”

 

“Well.” Some of the worry drains from Levi’s eyes. “Good thing I was going easy on you.”

 

Erwin laughs, loud in the open air of the yard. Levi huffs a near-laugh of his own and offers a hand to help Erwin to his feet.

 

*

 

It becomes a routine after that, to meet for after-supper spars under darkening lavender skies. In their brief times together Erwin notices a few things about Levi.

 

He notices that Levi always hangs his cloak on a hook before they begin. It's the same one he carries along every day, even in the swelter of mid-July, as if he expects a storm. Erwin asks him about it once. He gets an icy enough reply that he doesn't ask again.

 

There are other tokens Levi keeps on his person, a dagger sheathed and folded under his cloak, a slim knife in his boot. These Erwin never mentions.

 

He notices Levi’s occasional attempts at courtesy, a title thrown in here and there after a particularly sharp remark. Erwin, amused, wonders why Levi bothers at all.

 

He’s never faced anyone like Levi in training, never been challenged in such an unconventional style.  Each night he falls into bed weary and sore to his bones. When he closes his eyes he sees Levi’s own behind them, focused as a falcon, and the fear feels more like a thrill.

 

*

 

An attendant wakes Erwin early, early enough to make him worry. In the cool dark of morning he throws a robe over his pajamas and hurries to his father’s study. When the door opens the king looks up from his desk, holding a scroll of paper.

 

“There was a rider in the night,” his father says. “Lord Reiss has responded to our invitation.”

 

Erwin hardly has time to sit before there’s a knock at the door. When his father gives permission the door opens and one of their knights, Nanaba, steps in. Her face is grim.

 

“Good morning sire,” Nanaba says. “The police arrested a sorcerer last night. Caught him in a market alley.”

 

His father’s hands are steady on the desk, but Erwin catches the ache in his eyes. “What did he do?”

 

“Entertained children, from the looks of it. A witness saw him levitating stones for them.”

 

“That’s all? Only one witness?”

 

Erwin wonders if Nanaba hears the desperation behind his father’s soft voice, for any reason not to do what he must.

 

“Only the one, sire.”

 

His father exhales slowly. “The woods outside the market, at midnight. Only you and Mike. Have Moblit make the announcement in the morning.”

 

 

It was the one thing his father could change, making the executions private. Easing the bloodlust. Erwin was a child when he witnessed the last public burning, before his grandfather died and his father changed what laws he could. One of Kenny the Ripper’s accomplices, a woman whose screams he could still hear in his nightmares.

 

Nanaba leaves with a low bow. The king’s mask falls.

 

“I wish I had all the answers, Erwin," he says after a moment. "The nobles already want my head, the people would join them if I started allowing magicians to roam free again. Could you imagine?” The king’s rueful smile quickly fades. “This man has probably never harmed a soul in his life. I wish…”

 

In the first bloom of dawn Erwin sees it again, the way the king looks more than his age these days. It frightens him. He doesn't feel ready.

 

“Father…”

 

“I can only pray you will be a better judge than I.” The king sighs, then briefly pats Erwin’s hand. “Never mind all that. As I was saying, Lord Reiss has finally responded to our invitation.”

 

It takes a moment for Erwin to adjust to the new thread of conversation, still watching the veins settled neatly under his father's eyes.

 

“Lord Reiss is sending his daughter for a visit next week. The eldest, Lady Frieda. There will be a meeting to see if we can clear any of this air between our families. And, ah--well.”

 

His father coughs, and his tone changes. “I think it would be good for you to meet her personally. She’s only a few years older than you--”

 

“Father.” Erwin’s face heats. “Are you...you’re not suggesting--”

 

“What, that you should marry her? Goodness, no, not at all. Though...I  _ have  _ heard she’s very lovely.”

 

Erwin laughs, hiding his face in his palm. His father’s smile is warm.

 

“You’re a man grown now, Erwin. I can hardly betroth you to whichever girl will bring us the best political alliance anymore.”

 

“You never would have.” Erwin folds his hands on the table. “But it would be a good match. With Frieda.”

 

“I won’t deny it. But there are plenty of good matches out there, some even better. My only point is that it might be time for you to be thinking about this...sort of thing. And if you like her, who knows?”

 

Erwin doesn’t want to disappoint his father, or give him false hope. All he offers is a small smile.

 

“Yes. Who knows.”

 

*

 

Erwin hardly sleeps the night before Frieda’s arrival, and rises feeling groggy. The door opens as he fixes up his doublet, and it takes him a moment to notice Levi entering with breakfast.

 

“Rico said you were getting an early start.” Levi sets down a tray. “Wanted to make sure you got this.”

 

“Thank you,” Erwin says, too busy struggling with the small buttons to fully register Levi’s words. 

 

He mutters a curse as one slips free. Then he notices the buttons are misaligned. He sighs and begins again.

 

“You seem distracted today. Your Highness.”

 

Erwin’s mood lightens at that alone, the way Levi always adds the title like a bored afterthought. He smiles to himself as his hands make quick work.

 

“Here--” Levi says after a minute, reaching out.

 

“I’ve got it,” Erwin insists, finishing the last button. “There. How does it look?”

 

“Fine,” Levi says, shrugging. “What’s going on that’s got you so worked up?”

 

“I have my first real diplomatic meeting today.”

 

“Yeah? With who?”

 

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” Erwin says, his smile slow and careful. “But I can tell you it’s important. It...can’t go poorly.”

 

“How vague.” Levi snorts. “I still don’t see why you’re so worried.”

 

“You don’t?”

 

“You grew up surrounded by these people, right? Politicians and nobles and whoever else. Sounds to me like bullshitting is in your blood.”

 

Erwin coughs to keep from laughing too loud. Levi is nothing if not a constant surprise.

 

“Is that so? Go on, then.”

 

“Don’t think you have to solve all the kingdom’s problems in a day. Just make them happy enough to keep coming to the table.”

 

“Or in your words, bullshit.”

 

Levi raises his eyebrows, almost impressed. “Yeah. Of course, I’m not one of your advisers or anything, you probably shouldn’t listen to a word I say. Just don’t overthink it, that’s all.”

 

It’s not guidance Erwin would have gotten from any of his advisers, and somehow that makes it the most helpful thing he could have heard that morning.

 

“But you can’t do anything until you eat,” Levi adds, pointing at the tray as he turns to go. “No good if you’re fainting in front of the Earl of Wankerton or whoever it may be.”

 

“Levi?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Would you be my squire?”

 

Levi’s eyes go wide. “Wait--what? Really?”

 

“Truthfully I’d rather make you a knight, you’re already better than half of them, but it would look odd to promote you so fast. So this will have to do for now. What do you think?”

 

Levi smiles, wide enough that Erwin can almost see his teeth--a little uneven and a little sharp and a little sweet in the halfhearted morning light. Erwin can’t help smiling back.


	3. Organ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> character death warning starts at the end of this chapter aaaaaaaaaaand will be more or less relevant for the rest of the fic 0:-)c

“This is the prince’s decision then?” Rico asks.

 

“Yes,” Levi says.

 

She huffs over her stew at the hearth. The lad peeling carrots behind her shifts away, sensing her oncoming mood.

 

“So, er--”

 

“Fine, go then.” Rico sighs. “But first you give me that recipe for your quince pie.”

 

Levi makes for the medical ward next, where he finds Petra bent over a simmering pot, her hair tied back in a kerchief.

 

“Is Hange here?” he asks.

 

“At the market.” Petra sits up when Levi closes the door behind him. “Is this about--”

 

“Yes.”

 

She mutters something and waves her hand at the opposite wall. The noise from the outside hall goes quiet.

 

“What did you do?” he asks.

 

“No one can hear us now. What happened?”

 

Sometimes Levi envies Petra’s easy way of magic. Mostly it makes him fear what he's capable of.

 

“Erwin just made me his squire.”

 

“Well! That's--that's good, isn't it?”

 

“Maybe too good. If everyone knows we're getting close, I could be the first suspect when--when it happens.”

 

“So.” Petra lowers the flames under her pot, thinking. “So it should be soon. Before you’re well-known.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What can I do?”

 

“Aconite.”

 

Levi watched life bleed from a man’s eyes before he grew his first chin hair. This was nothing new. It shouldn’t feel like a murder confession to say it out loud, to watch Petra rise to her feet and rifle through drawers of stoppered bottles. 

 

*

 

His duties start that afternoon. Erwin asks Levi to follow and guard as he escorts a young woman around the market. It’s the first time Levi’s seen him in full regalia, with an emerald cape streaming from his shoulders, a silver circlet weaving through the gold of his hair, his strong, clean-shaven jaw held high and proud. Royalty didn't run deep into his bloodline, but Levi could see it suited him.

 

Most of the townspeople acknowledge Erwin with a bow, others with a short greeting, but none cause trouble with Levi glowering close behind. He leaves Erwin free to converse with his companion.

 

She's lovely, the woman, with round blue eyes and thick black hair in a short plait. She walks arm-in-arm with Erwin as he shows her the harbor wares unfamiliar to Mitras, the salted fish, the seashells polished to a jewel-like gleam. After the market Levi follows them to the public gardens, a quiet place to talk. He wonders if all squire’s duties are this dull.

 

At the market their voices were low, serious, and the woman glanced over her shoulder every minute or so to check Levi’s proximity. As if she was afraid he’d neglect his duty to protect them. Or otherwise afraid he was eavesdropping. 

 

Yet as they make their way through the gardens their postures relax. They walk close, and at times Erwin lays a broad hand at her back to guide her toward a turn in the open floral halls. In the swimmy heat of the day an image flashes in Levi’s mind, himself in place of the lady, Erwin’s gentle fingers near the base of his spine. He looks to the cool shaded ground to clear his head.

 

Afterward Erwin escorts her back to the castle, where she returns to her room to change before supper. Levi and Erwin walk toward the dining room.

 

“So?” Levi asks. “When's the wedding?”

 

Erwin's confused frown is quickly replaced with a laugh, and a flush of red stealing high up his neck. The perfect royal image falls away.

 

“Oh. No, no. It’s not like that.”

 

“You're sure?”

 

“Very sure.” Erwin considers Levi for a moment, then smiles. “I suppose I don’t have to keep secrets from you now. Her name is Lady Frieda of House Reiss, and she was here as a political envoy.”

 

“Ah. So this wasn’t a...courting thing--”

 

“No. I’m not quite, ah--ready for all of that, and in fact, she spent a good deal of time telling me about the handsome stable boy with whom she's enamored.”

 

Erwin shows no trace of disappointment, no longing, so Levi matches his smile. “Any better luck with the politics?”

 

“Oh yes. Frieda shares my concerns about her father’s ambitions. Better yet, she has favor in Mitras. She’s popular with common folk and nobles alike. And if Mitras stands down, it’s likely Helos will as well. More than likely.” He stops in the hall, breathes out slow. “Levi, I don’t think we’re going to war.”

 

“Good.” He cares little for the quarrels of kings, but war often meant famine for the poor. A knot he didn’t know was there loosens in his chest. “Good. Sounds like Mitras will be in better hands when it's her turn.”

 

“I think so too.”

 

Erwin invites Levi to dine at his side, up near the king’s empty seat. They eat in near-silence but Erwin’s relieved air relaxes Levi all the same. Erwin’s trencher is nearly empty before he speaks again.

 

“You know, Levi, you could live in the main keep now.”

 

“I could? Where?”

 

“In my chambers, if you'd like. Since we'll already be spending so much time together it would make sense. I have an adjoining room, I use it for my books now but I could have a bed brought in. What do you think?”

 

Levi's noticed the way Erwin asks things of him, almost shyly, as if he really thinks Levi would refuse. As if saying no to a prince was an option behind the strange walls of Stohess.

 

Still, he says yes, and Erwin’s grin is brighter than the dancing candlelight of the dining room.

 

*

 

When Levi was young the constant splash of waves against the harbor was always enough to lull him to sleep. Since arriving at the castle he’d slept little more than a handful of hours a night, unnerved by the relentless silence. Having his latest and last target a room away didn’t improve matters.

 

Levi sits up in the narrow bed Erwin had brought up for him. Even the summer nights are cool in Stohess, and he wraps a wool blanket around himself as he squints at the small room, round like the tower. A tall, thin window cuts through the far side of the wall. He imagines Erwin as a child curled up against its glass, reading until the fading of the last light, nose crinkled in concentration. In the muddy earliness of the hour he almost smiles at the thought.

 

But the boy had become a man, and the man would become king. Levi rises and opens his door slowly, careful for creaks.

 

Erwin snores into his pillow, one arm dangling from the mattress. Piles of books from Levi’s room lie at the foot of his bed, inches from his long fingers. 

 

He goes to the bedside and traces a finger in the air over Erwin's nape, down to the knob of his spine. It'd be so easy. Levi's hands weren't so small that they couldn't fit around Erwin's neck and twist. And then it'd be done. He'd run back to the wharf, collect his gold, wait for his ship. For Eldia. He and Petra would be free.

 

It'd be so easy.

 

Levi tightens the blanket around his shoulders and returns to his bed, leaving the door open. Erwin’s snores aren’t quite as soothing as bay waves, but the sound of another life is enough to help Levi find a few hours of sleep.

 

*

 

Frieda departs the next morning as Levi stands guard at the gate, dressed lightly against the early heat. He watches the lady and her retainers saddle their horses, secure their possessions. When she finishes Frieda scans the courtyard until her eye meets Levi’s. She smiles and approaches him like they’re old friends. Levi struggles to keep his bewilderment at bay.

 

_ Bow, idiot _ , he reminds himself.  _ Or do I bow? A special lord’s-heir handshake? _

 

“You’re Levi, am I correct?” she asks before he can decide.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I have something for you.”

 

The Lady of House Reiss pulls a folded sheet of parchment from her surcoat and hands it to Levi.

 

“The prince told me you’re an excellent baker. I wanted to give you a recipe for our crepes, they’re famous in Mitras.” Her smile slowly falls. “You...can you--”

 

“Yeah, I can read,” he says shortly.

 

“Ah, good. Well, I hope you like them. My little sister loves hers with a sprinkle of lemon.”

 

Her eyes go warm and wistful at the mention of the girl, like she’s ready to be home. Levi can see why the people love her.

 

“Thank you. My lady.”

 

Frieda departs quietly as she came, carrying no Reiss flags, but the news spreads through the townspeople of Stohess all the same, as does a sense of ease. Merchants smile brighter at their market stalls as soldiers make light jokes in the castle halls. If a deal was struck, there would be no call to war.

 

*

 

Erwin tells Levi his days as a squire were spent polishing helmets, fetching meals, peering over armfuls of heavy shields as he trotted to keep up with Mike. But he had been a boy of ten. Levi’s experience thus far was rather different.

 

He spends much of the next week tutoring the younger soldiers, still growing into their awkward limbs, armor loose on their chests, too eager in their movements and shouts. These were boys and girls who grew up watching their parents compete in tourneys and jousts. These were children who knew nothing of a real fight, of taking a life. 

 

Levi engages them in mock combat, corrects a stance here, finds the right weight of blade for the right arm there. Mike supervises but watches Levi more than his own soldiers, eyes narrowed, nose upturned. Levi would have to be wary of this one.

 

Aconite weighs heavy in his pocket as Petra’s words echo in his head, his first and final thoughts of every day. Yet as the week goes on he sees surprisingly little of the prince, holed up in meetings with his advisers, or taking long walks with his father. Most nights he returned the prince’s tower to find the man asleep, catching what hours he could before another early start. 

 

Then six nights after Frieda's visit, Levi climbs the tower to find Erwin sitting at the edge of his bed, still fully dressed.

 

“Tomorrow I have a free morning.” It's like Erwin's been waiting all day to say it. Even in the weak moonlight his smile from the news is brilliant. “Would you ride with me?”

 

“Ride...where?” Levi is slow to catch up, worn from a day in the training yard. "On horse?"

 

“Have you ridden one before?”

 

“Er--”  _ Should I have? _   Rowboats and push carts were more sensible than horses at the bay, and he never had anywhere to put one should the thought of stealing one arise. 

 

“It’s perfect, then. I’ll teach you. It’s something you should know anyway if--” He stops, his smile faltering for only a moment. “If it’s needed.”

 

“Yeah. Alright then.”

 

“You will? Splendid.”

 

Erwin’s shoulders relax. Levi wonders how long he’s been sitting there, waiting to ask. Something flutters uncomfortably in his chest.

 

“I haven’t been able to visit the countryside in months.”

 

As he speaks Erwin rises and reaches for a long nightshirt. Levi turns quickly to go to his own room but Erwin catches his hands. First one, then the other disappears under the soft strength of Erwin’s fingers, the warmth of his palms. 

 

“So much is better now that you’re here, Levi.”

 

Levi manages a smile, gently slides his hands free before Erwin feels the lethal leap of his pulse.

 

*

 

Erwin shows him to the stables before dawn. They smell cleaner than Levi expects, all fresh hay and earthy wood walls. Levi once heard horses could sense the nature of a man and he half expects them all to startle at the sight of him. He wonders if they smell the blood on his hands.

 

Instead the horses are quiet, curious as they approach. Erwin introduces him to a dark brown mare who looks calmly into Levi’s eyes, blinking slowly. Levi drops his gaze, unsure of what to do.

 

“Should I…?” He raises his hand toward her.

 

“If she’s receptive, go ahead. Just take it slow.” Erwin beams as Levi gently strokes the mare’s shoulder, as she leans into his hand. “You’re a natural, Levi.”

 

Erwin teaches him how to saddle a horse, to secure the bridle and reins. The air warms with their work. Then Levi helps Erwin ready his horse, a white stallion so magnificent, so befitting of the prince, Levi almost laughs at the sight.  _ Of course that thing is his _ . 

 

When Levi climbs into his saddle Erwin comes to his side, hands on Levi’s waist and thigh to steady him. The touch makes Levi’s hip twitch, his skin shiver when Erwin’s fingers drag across his leg for a half-second before pulling away. He remembers the way Erwin took his hands from the air last night, grounding him, so different from the rough, practical exchanges of their sparring matches.

 

In his brief time at the castle Levi’s learned Erwin is a man accustomed to touch. A man unlike Levi. Erwin’s formative years were spent with knights like brothers to ruffle his hair, servants to groom him, a father to embrace him. Levi spent his youth drawing affection from a wool cloak at his back, long sapped of the scent of his mother. Petra, with her own set of scars, wasn’t one for casual contact herself.

 

So when Erwin touches him he flinches, not out of discomfort so much as disuse. His waist burns still as Erwin leads the four of them in a walk out of the stables.

 

“Doing alright?” Erwin asks, looking over his shoulder.

 

The rocking and jostling is strange to Levi, but both his mare and Erwin are patient. “I think so. Right?” he asks the horse, patting her mane. Levi catches Erwin grinning before he faces forward.

 

They slip out through the gates at first light, at a steady trot that makes Levi redouble his grip on the reins. Erwin looks back at Levi more than the road, hardly pausing to direct his own horse. The two of them move like one.

 

“Ready to go a little faster?” Erwin asks.

 

“Sure,” Levi says, not sure at all.

 

Erwin gently nudges his horse into a gallop, and Levi’s mare follows suit. The rush of wind and movement takes his breath away, the loss of control making his head and stomach spin. Then he breathes, getting used to the speed, until it's exhilarating.

 

Levi looks back as they rise through gentle slopes, leaving the castle behind. It shrinks into the cliffs at its back, the market and village a collection of small fires and flat roofs. He then turns to the bay, near-dark in the shadow of the rising sun, with Sina Harbor waking up beyond.

 

From the seat of his horse, the world looks impossibly small.

 

In short hours the sun climbs high enough to wash the summer grass gold. They stop at a patch of woods half a mile outside a farming village, where a creek weaves through the earth. As the horses drink Erwin takes a pair of apples from his saddle bag. They sit and eat at the edge of the water, the grass warm under Levi’s legs.

 

“Thank you for indulging me today,” Erwin says. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had a day like this.”

 

“You gonna get in trouble for it?”

 

“I don’t imagine so. When I was young my mother always told me I should get my head out of my books, go out and see the land. I should have listened to her more often.”

 

They watch the creek flow to the village at the horizon, where children gather water and their parents tend to goats.

 

“It seems like a peaceful life, doesn’t it?” Erwin asks, nodding toward the village.

 

Levi bristles. “It isn’t easy.”

 

“Of course,” Erwin says quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply--forgive me.”

 

“Nah, I get it.” Levi rolls the apple in his palm, the crisp sweetness of his last bite still lingering at his teeth. How quickly two decades of hunger were forgotten. “When you’ve lived your whole life one way it’s natural to want something different.”

 

“Yes. It’s easy to get caught up in childish dreams...but you’re right, I imagine it wouldn’t be easy. And Lord Reiss would have us make it harder on them.” His voice grows cold at the name.

 

“You think your father will give in?”

 

“If it weren’t for Frieda, I think he might have.” He sighs, quiet and slow. “Ever since my mother died he’s become very protective of me. I’d rather he protect the kingdom, but it’s impossible to make a parent see it that way.”

 

Levi remembers his own mother feeding him bowls of broth, lifting spoons to his mouth whenever he was too ill to hold them. Only years later would he realize she rarely poured a bowl of her own.

 

When he speaks of his father there’s no accusation in Erwin’s tone. Only pity, paired only with a distant sadness in his eyes. For a moment the young man, with his life of books and ease, reminds Levi of the sailors he’d see nursing drinks at the tavern, the weary women rubbing their worn hands after a day of work, a muted sort of grief in the lines of their faces.

 

“How could it come to war over such a thing?” Fire crackles in Erwin’s voice, something righteous that for a moment steals Levi’s breath. “Do we not have enough riches already that we need to steal from the mouths of farmers and their families?”

 

“Men have gone to war over less a thousand times before.”

 

Levi doesn’t add what he knows, nobles like Nicholas Lobov whispering in Rod’s ear of their own importance, their status slipping under the Smith reign.

 

 _Wonderful. One decent royal in centuries and I have to kill him_.

 

Something zips through the trees, so soft Levi takes it for nothing more than a change of the breeze. A moment passes and there’s another. A thin shape soars past his ear. More than a breeze.

 

“Erwin--”

 

The man gasps beside him, clutching at his back. An arrow juts out shallowly below the line of his shoulder, slowed only by cloak, tunic, and the archer's poor aim. Levi reaches for the dagger in his own cloak and whirls around, eyes darting for movement in the trees, ears straining for a shuffle of grass. Nothing moves. Nothing breathes. No more arrows fly.

 

Erwin makes a soft sound as he pulls the arrow free, wincing. “Flesh wound,” he says. “And hardly that. Someone must have mistaken me for a deer.”

 

“A bear, more like.” Levi pulls a handkerchief from his cloak, heart thundering.  _ Where did they go? _

 

Erwin unfastens his cloak and Levi pulls the collar of his tunic down enough to examine the wound, blood trickling thinly through the white cotton. He presses the handkerchief there for a minute, another hand at the nape of Erwin’s neck to keep him still. His pulse is quick from the adrenaline and his skin is cool from riding in the wind. 

 

Levi wipes at the wound again. When he pulls the cloth away purple vein-like lines spread through Erwin’s shoulder, up his neck. The surrounding skin pales, a fast fall.

 

“What is it?” Erwin asks, noticing Levi’s face. “Levi, is...oh--”

 

Erwin slumps against Levi, who barely manages to catch him. The purple lines darken and branch as his limbs go stiff. Levi looks at the arrow lying in the grass.

 

Levi’s uncle had always preferred a knife, but Levi remembers once serving ale to a constable on Kenny’s trail, the way the constable had died with bulging eyes and a swollen tongue as Levi and Kenny watched from the window. He remembers the horrors of poison as well as steel. If he does nothing, Erwin will die like this.

 

He lowers Erwin to the grass and plunges his hand into the inner pocket of his cloak, fumbling for the small bag of dragon horn powder. It’s not ideal in its raw form, but it will do with the poison spreading fast. He can’t return to the castle without Erwin. Not while he’s alone with him, the only suspect.

 

He presses a palm against the wound and murmurs a heating spell, gentler than a whisper, careful not to overdo it, careful not to let Erwin hear. With Erwin’s eyes rolled back in his skull and his breath shallow, he was unlikely to hear anyway.

 

There was another spell to help medicine take quick effect. Petra would know, but Levi knew so little of the old language he was as likely to kill Erwin faster than save his life. Kenny had never been interested in passing on the mechanics of magic, only its potential, its power. And the kingdom paid dearly.

 

So he waits as Erwin struggles to breathe, afraid to touch him again, as if the intent in Levi’s heart would seep into his skin and keep him from coming back.

 

After a few minutes Erwin’s breathing regulates, quieter than the stream beside them. His skin warms and his shoulders relax. Levi shifts closer.

 

“Hey. You alright?”

 

Erwin’s eyes open at his voice and Levi breathes again. 

 

“What happened?”

 

He sits up, quicker than Levi expects. Under the panic and relief Levi realizes,  _ My magic worked _ .

 

“What do you remember?”

 

“There was a stray arrow. I was hit...I fell, and you caught me. I heard your voice. That’s all.” Erwin winces. “Did I faint?”

 

“Yeah. Just for a second. The shock, I guess.”

 

They both look away, Erwin embarrassed, Levi guilty. 

 

“Levi…”

 

Erwin runs a hand along the grass, long and yellowing with late summer. Still he avoids Levi’s eyes.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Please...don’t tell my father about this.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“He has enough to worry about as it is. I don’t want…”

 

“I get it. I won’t tell him.”

 

Erwin finally meets Levi’s eyes. “Thank you.”

 

They linger an hour more, until the sun slides through the afternoon and they climb onto their horses. As they ride Levi scans the trees for any sign of the attacker and doesn’t see so much as a dropped glove, a neglected quiver. He isn't as content as Erwin to believe it was an accident.

 

*

 

The king waits in the hall just inside the royal quarters when they return. Levi expects Erwin to look at him, exchange a nod, something to confirm their agreement. Instead he goes to greet his father. Levi wonders how much Erwin already trusts him.

 

“You missed supper.” The twitch of a smile at the king’s mouth betrays his stern tone. “Though you might still find some scraps in the kitchens.”

 

Erwin goes on ahead, and Levi starts following him when the king says, “Levi, may I have a moment?”

 

Levi glances down the hall, unsure, watching Erwin disappear around the corner. “You know my name? Your Hi--er, Majesty.”

 

The king laughs. “You’re my son’s squire. Of course I know who you are.”

 

It’s Levi’s first good look at the king. Under the beard, glasses, and lines of age the man looks a great deal like his son. He wonders how much more Erwin will look like his father as he grows older. Then he remembers Erwin won’t be growing older if Levi follows through.

 

_ When. Not if, when. _

 

“How are you liking your new lodgings?” the king asks. “Everything to your satisfaction?”

 

“Yeah--yes, thank you, Your Majesty.”

 

“I’d ask if my son is working you too hard, but it seems you’re the one keeping him busy.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Your training sessions. I’ve seen you boys out there. Erwin’s getting better with a sword every day.”

 

“Oh. Yeah, he is.”

 

When he speaks next he sounds less like a father and more like a king. “Yes, Erwin’s told me all about you. He says you’re as sharp with your mind as you are with a blade. So I take it you’ve guessed what’s going on outside these walls.”

 

Levi’s neck warms. “He said that?”

 

“He did. You must know war could be closing in around us. We all must be as ready as we can.” The king smiles warmly. “Knowing there’s someone looking out for my son, helping him become the best fighter he can be should we need him...I can’t tell you what that means.”

 

Levi wants to run, wants to be anywhere but under the kind, trusting scrutiny of this man. “It’s nothing. Anyone would’ve--”

 

“But you  _ did _ .” The king extends a hand. “In any case, I simply wanted to say it’s a pleasure meeting you, Levi.”

 

Levi regards the hand-- _ shouldn’t I bow? _ \--then shakes it firmly.

 

*

 

Levi stands over Erwin’s breakfast with a vial of finely-powdered aconite in his hand. The dose would be large enough to ensure death within an hour. A quick death, relatively. He tries not to remember Erwin’s paling face in the woods, his ragged gasps for air.

 

His thumb slides over the stopper, back and forth, back and forth.

 

*

 

That afternoon Levi meets Petra at their usual spot on the tower. The day is muggy and they take long drinks from water jugs, pressing the cool surfaces to their faces and necks.

 

“What’s that smell?” Levi asks.

  
“Me.” Petra wafts the collar of her shirt toward Levi, making him wrinkle his nose. “Hange’s got us testing out a new weapon, involves loads of sulfur.”

 

“Wonderful.”

 

“It sort of is.” Petra’s smile is slow to fade. “So.”

 

“Petra, I’m trying, I’ve got eyes on me all the time--”

 

“Hey, relax. I just wanted to ask what was new.”

 

Levi sighs. “He taught me how to ride a horse.”

 

“Did he?”

 

“Yeah, just yesterday." He laughs quietly. "I even thought about going down to the stables this morning to see the mare again. Erwin made me fond of the damn thing.”

 

“He sounds like a good man.”

 

_ A good man, who might make a good king.  _ Levi catches the unease in her voice.  _ But not at the price of our freedom. _

 

“Nothing's changed.”

 

“It's alright to have doubts. I've had them since that slimeball first approached you.”

 

“I haven't.”

 

“Levi...we could just stay.”

 

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, Petra--”

 

“Listen to me. We have a better life here at the castle than we ever could have anywhere else in Marley. I'm learning so much from Hange. I think I'm getting really good.”

 

“Do you still want to make it to Eldia?”

 

Petra's face goes solemn. “Of course I do. Gods, I want to. I want to study magic. I’m tired of freezing and starving every winter. But you--”

 

“Then we will. We'll see Eldia.”

 

“Alright.” Petra leans into the shadows climbing slow over the wall. “Alright. I could do it myself, you know.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“I’ve helped you on enough of your jobs to know what I’m doing. If you want me to take care of it--”

 

“No,” Levi says, too quickly. “No, I took this on. One last job, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

Concern lingers in Petra’s eyes so he looks away from them, taking a slow drink of water. Their ship departs in six weeks. By then he would have to learn to steel his heart.

 

*

 

Horn blasts wake Levi, who rubs his eyes in confusion. When he opens his door Erwin's already dressing, face pale.

 

“What's going on?”

 

“I can't--” Erwin looks at Levi a long moment. “Can you keep this quiet?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“It's Lady Frieda.” Erwin's face pinches a moment, distraught. “She was killed half a day's ride from Mitras, along with her guards.”

 

“ _ Shit _ .” Levi tries not to picture the kind girl’s face twisted in fear. “Erwin--”

 

“The Reisses found out only hours before we did. The scouts say Lord Rod has already called his banners.”

 

“But why? What would--” Levi pauses, thoughts rushing to catch up. “Who did it?”

 

“A torn and bloodied badge with my house’s colors was found not fifty feet from the--their bodies.”

 

“Anyone could have planted that,” Levi says, though he has a few ideas. He balls his fists against a swell of fury.

 

“I thought the same. But I fear there will be no reasoning with a man who’s just lost a daughter.” Erwin’s voice nearly breaks and he breathes, settling himself. “We're being told to move out. Will you come with me?”

 

Levi frowns. “What do you mean?”

 

“You’ve done enough, and you never signed up for a war, I understand if--”

 

“No, that’s not--I’m going with you, but--we’re leaving now?”

 

“Yes. We cannot allow the Reisses to lay siege.” Erwin’s eyes widen, like he’s just heard Levi properly. “You say you’ll come?”

 

“Isn’t it my duty?”

 

“We all have a choice.”

 

“Well, I choose this. Besides, how far could you get without me?” 

 

Levi’s smile is thin, and his palms sweat as he searches for suitable clothes. His horror over Frieda nearly dulls a surge of excitement but it rises all the same.

 

This would make it far too simple. Erwin could meet his fate in the first battle, or Levi could cut his throat in the tent they would surely share. He tries not to think of the body he would leave behind, or the snake of a man this would all benefit. Instead he imagines fleeing under nightfall, trekking toward the harbor he once left behind, running quietly alongside Petra--

 

_ Petra _ .

 

“Will the medics be coming along?” Levi asks. “Hange and their staff?”

 

“Almost certainly,” Erwin says. “Hange’s the best, and I know they’ve found a great asset in your friend. We’ll need all the help they can give us.”

 

When Levi finishes dressing he turns and finds Erwin giving him a gentle smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Don’t worry. Petra will be kept safe with the other medics. It would be a great dishonor for anyone to harm them.”

 

Levi nods. He triple-checks the sewn pockets of his mother’s cloak, finds his weapons, the dragon horn powder. 

 

“Are you ready?” Erwin asks.

 

“I should be asking you that.”

 

“I’ve studied battle strategy since I was old enough to read. I’m ready.” Erwin laughs, drags a hand across his face. “I certainly should be.”

 

He suddenly looks older in the grey morning light, as old as he may ever look. Levi turns away from the thought and opens the door.


End file.
